Projection
by Heddwig
Summary: The Milky Way Galaxy explodes, how does the Doctor react?


I'm American so if you spot anything that seems out of place, please let me know.

**I do not own DW nor am I affiliated with it. I am not seeking to make profit from this, this merely is just me writing for the benefit of me and others. No infringement meant at all.**

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"You can't save them all, Doctor." She's standing near the console in the control room, facing the doors that were meant to be pulled not pushed. When he moves around, occasionally propping his foot up on one of the six panels, she stays in place...never once does she turn to cast her brown eyes upon him.

"But I could have. If they had just waited." The Doctor approached her, stepping around from behind and got up close to her face. She didn't flinch, couldn't, incapable of emotion as if she too were paralyzed by the event that had taken place. It was too gruelling to properly process in such a human mind, at this he scoffs in a way that said she would never understand. But she did, always did.

"You can't save them all, Doctor." She repeats, a flicker goes through her but he had his back to her when this happens—as he, baffled, throws his arms up in protest and frustration.

"I always do! You know that, you've seen me do just that!" He's spinning now, not quite sure where to step next so he spins until he's facing her, again, with her indifferent facial expression. Rassilon, he'd hate to get her mad to a point where she was beyond expressing emotion.

"It's time to start anew." She says just as monotonously as she had before with her previous statement; why did she have to be so dull all of a sudden?

"There's always time for that..." He brushes it off, waving his hand at her as he dismissed the very suggestion of travelling elsewhere, in another galaxy though he could do that just as easily as straightening his bowtie. "What about you, how are you feeling in all this?" He motions to her, beckoning her to fall apart just so he could have a reason to hold her; console her.

Her galaxy had just died as of three minutes and forty-two seconds ago.

"The same." Is all she said and at this point, he's stumbling to his knees as he pouts.

"Same as what?" He really wanted to know.

"You can't save them all, Doctor." It was as if she had been reset, it even looked like she had been put in reverse. He watched as her golden hair shifted the faintest bit, her fingers fidgeting in a way only his quick glances could have seen. Even her lips, they rub together momentarily before going back to being straight and neutral. Her eyes were transfixed elsewhere, never quite looking at him even when he got up close to study any facial changes.

Stepping up to her again, this time his nose almost grazed hers in the process—he could feel the energy radiating off of her like oil in a sizzling pan; it popped and crackled. He searched both of her eyes, as if they both told a separate story that could entertain him for days and perhaps they could. She was a very interesting study.

"But I have you." The Doctor murmurs, wanting her to say more...wishing she could. "You always said that it was better with two. Say it now, come on, its been days since I've heard that. Kinda miss it, actually."

Silence.

"Oh, don't play coy with me, Rose Tyler! Too stunned for words now are you?" The Doctor moves his hand to caress her cheek, touch her delicate skin, to feel her warmth spread through his fingertips and melt into his veins. He can feel the energy again as it tickles his hand and he wonders if he could feel it everywhere given the chance. So full of life, she was.

She was silent still, mouth never once twitching to respond.

"Out with it! I know how you like to talk. You'd always talk my ear off." The Doctor turns away from her, his shoulder just missing her chest which is protected by her leather jacket that she had taken to wearing after she met him.

He starts to pace around the platform, tossing his sonic into the air as he scrunched up his eyebrows and nose while in deep thought.

Coming to a slow stop, the Doctor spots a coin on the ground and bends to pick it up.

"Oi, what's this? Earth currency? Blimey, haven't seen that in a while." Which was ironic, even for him, seeing as the vast majority of his companions were human. He starts to flick it into the air, using his other hand to slip his screwdriver into his trouser pocket, and gets an idea. It was mad really, didn't know if it would work or not, but it was an idea nonetheless and he was desperate to try it. That was the Doctor, always experimenting and dabbling into things he probably shouldn't but he was a curious alien; always needed answers.

Without pausing to weigh the pros and cons, he turns at his hips and hurls the coin at Rose who still stood, unblinking, facing the direction of the TARDIS doors. It passed through her, like he thought it would, and she remained unfazed.

"Oh, Rose, you were supposed to move! Has anyone told you how rusty your reflexes have gotten?" The Doctor walks around Rose and bends again to gather the coin between his agile fingertips.

"No? It seems that way. Well I'll be the first to you: Rose Tyler, your reflexes have gone terribly bad and I think you need to have that checked out... In fact..." the Doctor grins, jaw slightly unhinged, as he pulls his screwdriver from his pocket and starts to scan her entire body but his screwdriver had a funny effect on Rose.

She started to flicker in and out, she even got a little bit static-y, and when he pulls his sonic back, she's solid again.

This reminds him of bitter thoughts, ones that dwell on his shoulders and force him to slouch forward.

Rose is dead.

Has been, for millenniums.

He could have gone back, slipped through yet another crack in time and motion with his hand to come into the TARDIS with him knowing that she would drop everything just to be amongst the stars again. But he didn't because a small part of him knew, she wouldn't. Why would it matter to her when in thousands of years, she would be long dead? She probably had children with the Meta-Doctor by then, after leaving her there for the second and final time.

Bowing his head, as if mourning, the Doctor mumbles under his breath.

"I could have saved all of them."

"You can't save them all, Doctor."

"I could have saved you."

There's silence, as if the TARDIS was also taken aback by her thief's words but regardless, she resumed as if it had only been a technical delay. "You can't save them all, Doctor."

"But I need you, don't you see, Rose? I need you now more than ever. I always needed you..." the Doctor looks up, into her eyes that are nothing more than just a copy of the real ones that would have gleamed and twinkled. This Rose didn't have a soul, it was only just a projection—an exterior memory of Rose archived by the TARDIS.

His hand accidentally spasms, palm entering where her teeth would be—_should_ be. This causes her image to go amuck yet again only this time, when he pulls away, she doesn't solidify into the perfect image but instead vanishes.

He has been alone for too long now, longer than he has ever been. He was able to see when the rift finally closed itself off as he float around in space, from a safe distance, as he watched it all happen.

In a way it made him madder than he already is; all of the silence and loneliness got to him in such a manner that he couldn't understand. Perhaps it was the guilt from his many lives with two hearts...an extra heart left more room for grief and inner-damnation. More or less, he talked to himself because they were no longer there within the TARDIS to go on adventures with him. There was no one to offer insight and perspective different from his own. Now he truly is the lonely madman with a blue box...

No one was there to distract him from himself, from his memories. What a bitter man he had become, only entertained by projected memories and the varying scents of his former—now deceased—companions. As if that alone had kept him from going completely insane because in some way, they were still there...with him, untouched by definite finality, as he explored the TARDIS. They kept him talking, kept him stray from darker things whether they knew it or not, just like fantastic, wonderfully compassionate Rose.

And somewhere within that scattered galaxy of finality, Rose was there. Her remains, gone and forgotten by everyone and anything except for him.

Of course the Doctor knows he can venture out into other galaxies and lure someone else into his ship but he doesn't, he's gotten used to his human companions and their memories although the personality was absent, they would always be there. He could visit their rooms, have discussions (and repetitive ones at that) with their image, and even go into the past—watch them from a safe distance during the times he had left them.

So many seconds within their lives, he could always go back and relive with and without them all at the same time. Because he would always have time, they just had to wait.

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**A/N:** Don't go breakin' my heart now, baby!


End file.
